


in memoriam

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Infidelity, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Murder Kink, Oral Sex, Painplay, Power Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Riding, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Service Top Richie Tozier, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Richie is in shock,he says.I need to make sure he’s alright,he says. The Losers give both of them a rushed ride to the Townhouse before speeding off to keep their unofficial leader out of trouble, all while Eddie takes care of his best friend.He “takes care” of Richie by dragging him into his room, shoving him against the door so hard it shakes, and shoving his tongue down his throat.(Richie kills Henry Bowers. For some reason, Eddie is unbelievably horny about it.)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 136





	in memoriam

**Author's Note:**

> please read all tags before reading this work. includes: infidelity, blood, sexualizing an open wound, and the sexualization/fetishization of a murder.
> 
> enjoy!

Eddie’s always been afraid of murder.

It’s a perfectly rational concept to be afraid of, the intentional act of one human being killing another—whether it be an act of malice or a desperate, unbreaking will to survive. Eddie can’t imagine being a killer. He can’t handle the thought of it, the thought of a person driving a knife between ribs or slipping poison into a drink.

He imagines himself sometimes, hands wrapped around a throat, watching the spark die out in someone's eyes as they croak out pleads and whimpers. It makes him feel sick.

Which is why he’s very, _very_ confused when he watches Richie Tozier commit cold-blooded murder and pops the quickest boner of his life.

Confusion doesn’t win out. He somehow manages to slow everyone down, the slowest Eddie’s ever wanted to be, and gets the rest of the Losers to track down Bill and convince him to cool off before giving the clown all he’s got.

 _Richie is in shock,_ he says. _I need to make sure he’s alright,_ he says. The Losers give both of them a rushed ride to the Townhouse before speeding off to keep their unofficial leader out of trouble, all while Eddie takes care of his best friend.

He “takes care” of Richie by dragging him into his room, shoving him against the door so hard it shakes, and shoving his tongue down his throat.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” Richie is saying into his mouth, something like a plea or a prayer. Eddie’s never heard anyone say his name like this. He’s never felt anything like this. “Eddie, I—Eds—”

“Don’t call me Eds,” he gasps against Richie’s lips. Richie whimpers against him, a sound like he’s weak. Like he’s _scared_. Eddie can’t deny the heat in his face, in his stomach, in his bones. He’s hard in his jeans and he can’t tell if the dampness in his boxers is his sweat or his own gross precum. “Richie.”

“Eds,” Richie whines, his big hands shifting over Eddie’s shirt. One is wrapped around his waist and the other is clutching at his back, most definitely wrinkling his Members Only jacket. Eddie can’t bring himself to care. “Do you—What are we doing?”

“What do you think we’re doing?” Eddie asks, still pressed against Richie’s mouth. Richie is panting and Eddie needs to catch his breath too, so they can’t properly kiss. Their making out has turned more into hot, heavy breathing into each other’s mouths rather than something sexy, but it works for Eddie.

“I’m serious,” Richie says, as serious as he can sound through the hysteria of not knowing what the fuck to do. He was doing well enough before: when Eddie first kissed him, Richie kissed back. They’re on the right track, aren’t they?

“I’m serious, too,” Eddie insists. He knows Richie can feel him. They’ve been tugging each other close this whole time, bodies pressed flush enough that Eddie can swear he feels Richie’s heart beating into his own chest. Nonetheless, he grinds his hips forward and asks, “Can’t you feel me?” Richie must like that, because he moans from his throat and tips his head back to hit it against the door. “Don’t you like it?”

“I—Yes, yes, fuck I do, but—Did I miss something? Is there not a kid-eating clown on our asses?” The hand on Eddie’s waist twitches downwards before stopping, like Richie means to squeeze Eddie’s ass for the bit but decides not to. “What are we doing, man?”

“Sex,” Eddie answers immediately, and Richie chokes on his own spit. As he coughs above him, Eddie sneaks his nose under his chin and speaks into the groove below his Adam's apple. “I really, really want to have sex.”

“W-With me?” Richie coughs out.

“Yes,” Eddie replies, breathing down into Richie’s sweaty button-up.

“We have—Fuck, we don’t have time, Eddie, not now, it’s-it’s—We can’t.” Eddie huffs against the man in impatience, then pulls his face away just enough so Richie can look down at him. His pupils are dilated to hell, and there’s a pretty pink flush on his face that makes him look adorable. Eddie’s a little surprised: surely Richie’s had more sexual experience than him, but he looks so debauched right now.

(In the back of his mind, he knows why.)

“We have a few hours,” Eddie corrects him, squinting his eyes to focus on Richie’s face through the haze. He’s afraid the expression might come off as more like a glare, but he’s sure Richie is used to it. “Do you—”

“I want to,” Richie finishes for him, eager and quick with his answer, “but we can’t right now. The Losers—We don’t have time. I don’t even know wh—Like, I-I don’t—Don’t you want to talk about it?”

“I love you,” Eddie says, like he’s wanted to say all evening. Like he’s wanted to say all his life, but never remembered how to.

“I—I love you,” Richie says back, not quite as easily. The pinkness grows harsher. His eyes get watery behind thick lenses. “I’ve _been_ loving you.”

Eddie softens. He’s been cupping Richie’s jaw with his hands, but he shifts them up to carefully wipe the tears away once they drop. Richie shuts his eyes, embarrassed, and Eddie presses a chaste kiss to his lips. It’s light, and gentle, and he hopes Richie knows it means that he’s telling the truth.

“There, we’ve talked,” he says against Richie's lips suddenly, and Richie snorts.

“Okay, Casanova,” he chuckles, bringing his own hands up and gently grabbing Eddie’s as he pulls away.

“I know we don’t have time,” Eddie starts, but then his voice gets whiny as the heavy feeling of lust returns to him. He presses forward again, connecting their mouths again for a longer, more intentional kiss. He continues against Richie, a little desperately, “but I want you so bad, Rich. Don’t you want me?”

“What brought this on?” Richie asks absently, feeling like he’s torn between chasing Eddie’s mouth and trying to make sense of the situation. Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to be truthful, but he knows he has to. Richie just found out he loves him and he hasn’t taken off running—what’s another bombshell confession?

“I’m sorry,” he prefaces, just in case, and offers his tongue. Richie glides his own tongue against Eddie’s, whimpering into it and slumping against the door a little more. Eddie takes a moment to recollect himself, but every inch of him is already falling apart and he’s hot all over. He’s already scattered into space as he weakly admits, “What brought it on was what you did to Henry Bowers.”

The two-word preface doesn’t do its job, and Richie pulls back so suddenly Eddie hears his head bang against the door again. He’s looking at Eddie with wide eyes and messy hair, though that flush is still on his face. Eddie wants to see how long it’ll stay there.

“What?" Richie asks, steadier than he’s been for the past five, ten minutes. “I did—What I did to—Eddie, I _murdered_ him.”

“I know,” Eddie breathes. He trails the flush down Richie’s jaw to his neck. He wants to see how far down the color goes.

“I didn’t even _want_ to. I mean I-I wanted to, but not—it was to protect Mike. I _killed_ him.” It just makes Eddie press against him harder, moaning quietly, pressing his hard-on into Richie’s thigh.

“I know,” he gasps, and Richie’s hands aren’t moving, but they’re still gripping onto Eddie’s clothes like Richie is afraid he’ll run away. “I know, I know, I know, and I have no clue why, but I’m so _hard_ for it.”

“Oh my god,” Richie says. Eddie wasn’t lying before. Richie was in shock, and he did want to make sure he was alright. However, he might’ve missed a few steps in guiding Richie’s recovery, because he is definitely not okay with what he had done in the library. “I killed him. And you’re—I put an axe through his skull like—like—”

“Like it was nothing,” Eddie offers. He presses further, grinding into Richie again, a moan getting caught in his throat. “Like his head was fucking butter and you held a hot knife over the stove.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Richie says, his grip loosening on Eddie. In a panic, he tugs Richie closer, looking up at him as he hauls his best friend across the room. “Eddie.”

“I’m so hard,” Eddie repeats, whining it out. “And I know you are, too. It hasn’t gone away, I _feel_ it, Richie, I know you’re hot for it, too. It’s the only reason why I haven’t shut my dumb, stupid fucking mouth.”

The backs of Eddie’s knees bump the Townhouse bed, and he shoves Richie forward a little to turn them around. When he pushes again, Richie is like a ragdoll, falling onto the mattress with loose limbs and nearly going all the way onto his back. Eddie drops to his knees right there.

“I felt it through my clothes,” Eddie says, and Richie scrambles to prop himself up with his palms flat on the bedsheets to see him. He places a gentle hand on Richie’s knee, gliding it up a few inches, but no further. “You’re so warm. It feels so big. Even just now, when I said I liked you killing Bowers. I felt you twitch in your jeans.”

“Fuck,” is all Richie can say. Eddie’s fingers splay a little over his thigh, and Richie still looks like he wants to cry, but he nods eagerly when Eddie moves his hand up just a little more.

“What’s that nod for?” he asks, even though he knows. “You want me to touch you?”

“Fuck,” Richie says again. “Yes, yes, do it. I want you to touch me.”

“Can I see it, too?” Eddie asks, sliding his palm over so the tips of his fingers brush against the hard line of Richie’s cock. “Would you let me watch you leak? Watch how much blood rushes to it when you get even harder?”

“This is the hardest I’ve ever been in my life,” Richie says quickly, almost forcing the words out as Eddie strokes him through his jeans and then pops his button open. He unzips the fly next, and it’s like his cock is straining against it. “Yes, I-I want you to see.”

“Off,” Eddie urges, and he pulls back just for a second as Richie kicks his pants and boxers off before he’s crowding against his lap again. “You’re so hot, Rich, I—Can I put you in my mouth?”

“Yes,” Richie says before he realizes. “Wait, what about your—”

Eddie dives in before Richie can finish, only because he knows exactly what Richie is going to say. He hasn’t forgotten the stab wound in his face, but this is what Eddie wants. He cuts Richie off with a swipe of his tongue over the head of his cock, to which Richie moans, and then Eddie takes a few inches into his mouth straight away.

“Oh my god,” Richie groans, low and heavy. "Oh my fucking god.”

 _Good?_ Eddie means to say, but his mouth is full of cock, so it comes out as more of an upturned hum. Richie swears a few more times, and his hands twist in the sheets. Eddie takes that as a yes and lets the drool in his mouth slick Richie’s dick as he moves further down. The drool, and something else.

“I feel your blood,” Richie grunts out, and he meets Eddie’s eyes through his lashes. “I—At least, I think I do. Is that why you wanted—Is your cheek okay?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side as he pulls off just a little, and they moan at the same time when the head of Richie’s cock slips between the gash that goes clean through Eddie’s face. Eddie jumps a little, because it still hurts, and moves his head back to swallow Richie down again. The taste of copper fills his mouth, and he thinks blood is pooling onto Richie’s abdomen.

“That’s so hot,” Richie says, lost in it. One of his hands moves to Eddie’s hair, shyly at first. Eddie bumps his head up into Richie’s hand, and his fingers curl around it. He starts moving Eddie’s head for him, all the way to the tip and then down again. “There’s so much blood. It looks so fucking hot.”

Richie holds him at the tip for a second, moving his head left to right instead of up and down, and Eddie moans into him. Richie lets out a groan that Eddie feels all the way to his toes, and he reaches down to unzip his own pants and take himself in his hand. He shifts his weight so Richie notices, and the sound Richie makes when he does drives Eddie insane.

“You look so hot touching yourself like that. Like you can’t even help it,” Richie babbles, propping his weight up on one elbow and using his free hand to shake Eddie's head around. He pushes without warning, making Eddie gag. "Like you're starving for it."

 _I am, I am, I am,_ Eddie chants in his mind, his eyes fluttering shut as Richie drags him up and down with his hair. He jerks himself off in sync, squeezing from the base of his own dick and twisting a little as he gets to the head. _I'm so hungry for you I feel like I'm dying._

"Come on, take my dick," Richie grunts. He relaxes his grip on Eddie's hair to press his palm flat on the back of his skull, lowering him further and further. Eddie gags a little on the way, but his throat goes slack and Richie’s dick is in his throat and fuck, he could cum just like this. "Yeah, yeah, you're taking it so well, babe. Fuck, you look so good."

Eddie’s hand has stilled on himself, gripping at the base of his cock as he pulses his tongue along the underside of Richie's dick. He peers at Richie through his eyelashes when he tries to gulp down his head and the precum that must be gathering there, that he can imagine mixing with his own saliva and sliding down into his belly.

Eddie's the one with meat stuffed in his mouth, but Richie’s panting like he's out of breath. His face is so red and it looks like his glasses have fogged up a little with the tears that have gathered in his eyes. He holds Eddie down, almost for too long, and then grips his hair again and pulls him back up for a breath.

Something must catch, because Eddie coughs a little as he's pulled off of Richie's dick. A thick string of saliva stretches between them, connecting Eddie's swollen red bottom lip and Richie's glistening head. It's so hot. Eddie lets go of himself to swipe his finger through the strand and break it before bringing the spit to the base of his throat. It's slimy and already cooled by the air of the room, and Eddie moans at it against his bare skin.

"Come up here," Richie urges after a few moments of staring. Eddie wants to go in for a kiss, but Richie (easily) lifts him from beneath his armpits and keeps shifting him up until Eddie feels the warmth of his tongue against his throat. Richie huffs a breath against him and dares to nip at the skin there. "God. You taste so good."

"I should be telling you that," Eddie gasps, suddenly remembering to catch his breath. His voice is a little fucked up even though he'd barely done anything, but Richie doesn't seem to mind. In fact, his grip on Eddie's waist tightens a little. He can feel Richie's blunt fingernails forcing crescents into his body. "Want more. I want you in my mouth again."

"We're on a time crunch," Richie reminds both of them, and Eddie can feel his brow move as he frowns against his collar. When he shimmies down to look at Richie, he looks a little more sober than he was when he was clogging Eddie’s airway. "Do we even have time to—have sex?"

"I like the pause there," Eddie points out, "like you forgot the word for sex." Richie snorts and kisses him on the lips, but by the time Eddie starts to reciprocate, Richie's pulling back again. Before Eddie can protest, two large fingers are slipping past his lips and pressing on his tongue.

"You're so mean to me," Richie breathes, tapping and gliding his fingertips over Eddie's tongue like a prostate. Eddie would know; he likes to curve his fingers inside of himself just like Richie is. "Is it okay if I…" Eddie moans and nods, and Richie lets him lap between his digits before moving over to the side of his mouth.

"Imagine you taking my fingers and my cock in your mouth at the same time." Richie’s fingertips search for only a second before they find their way between Eddie's knife gash, making him jump. Richie pauses, then Eddie moans, and Richie continues. At the same time, he asks, "Yeah, you like that idea? Me making you take my cock and playing with the hole in your cheek all at once?"

There's some pressure on the side of his face that Eddie quickly realizes is his bandage. Richie’s fingers poke out at it, making it stretch, and Eddie scrambles to tear it off himself. It ends up somewhere on the floor, and his hands shake when his palm meets the tips of Richie's bloody fingers. There's a warm wetness running down his jaw.

"Shit, you're bleeding so much," Richie says, and the unexpected shakiness of his voice is what catches Eddie's attention. His voice is getting a little weaker, his fingers pulling back into Eddie's mouth as he asks, "Are you okay? Am I hurting you? Should I stop?"

"You're doing great," Eddie assures him quietly, muffled due to the obstruction in his mouth. "It hurts. It's good, like… like when you hover your hand above a lit candle and it starts to get a little too hot."

"I think we're past 'a little'," Richie admits, and hesitates for another second before pushing his fingertips past Eddie's stab wound again. "Oh my god…"

Eddie lets his tongue drag the excess blood from Richie's fingers when he finally pulls them out, and he holds the warm liquid there when Richie pulls him up between his legs for a kiss. He moans into Eddie's mouth when the taste of copper spills out into his own, and Eddie holds the back of Richie's head to keep him there for as long as he wants him to be. When he breaks the kiss, Eddie flicks his tongue over his own lips to taste the blood there.

"Come on," he breathes. Richie looks fucked out already, his face totally flushed and eyes half-lidded. Eddie can't help but kiss him again, making Richie gasp against his bloodstained lips before continuing, "Like you said: we're on a time crunch."

Eddie stands to stumble out of his clothes while Richie wriggles out of his own. His blood’s dripped over the front of his shirt, making Eddie frown at the stain, but then Richie tugs at the bottom and it’s forgotten immediately. They strip quickly, making a small, wrinkled pile on the floor next to the bed before Eddie is pushing Richie back again to herd him onto the bed.

He splays his both hands over Richie's broad, strong chest as he shoves him backwards, catching chest hair beneath his palm and rubbing the pads of his thumbs over two pert nipples.

"Your nipples are hard," he mutters into another kiss, and Richie whines. At his side, the blood on his fingers smears into the bedsheets. He thinks he feels some on his jaw, the side of his neck, but it might just be sweat.

"Stop feeling up my boobs, man, I'm self-conscious of those things," Richie murmurs.

"You're hot," Eddie exhales, and makes Richie jump when he pinches both nipples with his fingers. Richie swats his hands away. "Okay, quit it. Next time?"

"Will there be a next time?" Richie asks awkwardly, and Eddie pinches his nipples again. "Ow. Question for later, got it."

"No, dipshit, that was an affirmative," Eddie says. He trails his hands down Richie's chest, over his belly and then to his hips. "Do you have anything?"

"I have seven inches," Richie offers. Eddie frowns a little.

"I know that, idiot, you were in my mouth. I meant condoms." He pauses to think for a second. "Lube."

"Oh. Yeah, in my bag." Richie points, and Eddie crawls off of him for a second to dig through his belongings for lube and a stray condom in an inside pocket. "How we doin' this, bud?"

"I want—Don't call me bud," Eddie scolds as he climbs back over him, straddling his thighs, and Richie snorts. His hands are wrapped around Eddie's waist, gently brushing over the skin there. There's blood stained into his nails, his cuticles. Eddie imagines bloody fingerprints all over his body, and he imagines licking them all away. "I want your fingers first. You've got big hands."

"Man hands," Richie says, and Eddie nods solemnly. Richie sits up long enough to shuffle back, Eddie following awkwardly until his head is back against the pillows and Eddie is on his knees above him with the items in hand. "Lube?"

"Hold out your hands, sweetheart," Eddie instructs, and he _sees_ Richie melt at the name as he does what he's told. He pops open the bottle and carefully turns it over, watching Richie's eyes follow the movement. "Good boy."

"You make me so hard," Richie says without prompt, watching the liquid slowly dribble over his fingers. They both see the blood on his fingertips, but neither of them mention it. "Like it's—Like you're some kind of fucking hormone-wrecker."

"Waht the fuck is a hormone wrecker?" Eddie asks, leaning over to place the bottle on the side table as Richie wiggles his fingers a little bit. "Use both. Two fingers."

"I don't even know. Oh my god," Richie says, his voice pitched a little higher than usual. He brushes Eddie's side and Eddie lifts up a little, shifting his knees apart and placing his splayed hands on Richie's chest for balance. He slides his free hand around to move Eddie's ass cheek so his lubed fingers can find his hole; Eddie jumps a little when his thick fingertips find it, gently nudging up against the tight little ring.

"Fuck," Eddie breathes, and Richie smiles up at him eagerly. It makes Eddie lean down for a kiss, first properly on his mouth, then across his cheek, his jaw, before he sits back up and nods. "Go ahead, Rich."

The thing about Richie is: he's big. He has a big head and big shoulders and a big cock, but his hands—they're huge, and they're warm, and his fingers are the hottest things Eddie's ever felt as they slowly work into his hole.

"Ah, fuck—shit," he gasps, tensing a little before he relaxes. Richie is biting his own lip, staring at Eddie's crotch, and Eddie glances down. He didn't notice it until just now, he's been so focused on Richie, but his dick is so hard. It's flushed red and it curves upwards, enough that the precum leaking from the tip glides down along it instead of just dribbling off.

"You're wet," Richie groans as he pushes his fingers further into Eddie. A whine comes from his throat when Eddie rocks down a little, arching his back to press his hips downwards. His cock bounces with the movement, stiff and glistening. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Eddie, you're so hot."

"Yeah? You're so loud, baby," Eddie replies, a little breathlessly. He reaches down to grab Richie’s wrist and keep his hand still as he lowers a little more. When he moves up again, Richie moans fully. "It sounds like you're fucking me, but your cock isn't even being touched."

"Please," Richie whines, and Eddie bumps against the rest of Richie's hand. He moves Richie's wrist a little, making him pump his fingers in and out, and then lets go. Richie continues the fluid motions, watching his own hand move like it's his dick sinking in and out of Eddie's ass.

"Please what?" Eddie grunts out, moving his hands to Richie’s shoulders and pinning him to the bed with his full weight in order to ride him. His shoulders are huge under his hands, and it makes him crazy.

"Kiss me," Richie pleads, and Eddie leans down to kiss him firmly. Richie moans through it, his fingers starting to curl and grind into him, and Eddie’s toes curl at the sensation. He stops suddenly, to Eddie's dismay, but then another fingertip presses to his entrance. "Mm—Can I?"

"Yeah," Eddie affirms against his lips, and he moans into Richie's mouth as a third finger stretches him out with little patience. It hurts a little, he needs more lube, but he doesn't say so. "Careful, Rich."

"Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all as he carefully nudges further into Eddie, but Eddie didn't want the apology anyway. He keeps rocking back and forth, getting Richie in deeper with each backwards motion. "You feel so good."

"That's my line," Eddie mumbles, and then he slips his tongue into Richie's mouth to hear him gasp. Richie whimpers when Eddie slows to a stop in order to grab his face, forcing his jaw open all the way it can go to lick possessively into his mouth.

He can still taste his blood where it snuck into the crevices of Richie's teeth, the roof of his mouth. He's warm, and wet, and his little gasps for air against Eddie's tongue only makes Eddie want to swallow him whole. Crawl inside him, maybe. Bleed there so the taste is all Richie knows.

"Ah—Eds," Richie moans, and Eddie swallows it down easily. Richie can't quite kiss back like this, but Eddie doesn't mind. He bites at his lips, licks behind his teeth, sucks at Richie’s tongue. By the time he pulls away, Richie is a panting, whiny mess. "Eddie…"

"I think I'm ready to take you now, Richie," Eddie breathes, letting go of his jaw and trailing his nose across Richie's cheek. He can feel Richie's leg twitch when Eddie's breath fans over his flushed face and presses his mouth to the spot below his ear. "Do you still want to?"

"Yes," is the immediate answer, and Eddie reaches down to press Richie's hand away. The loss of his fingers is uncomfortable, but Eddie knows he won't have to wait long.

"How do you want me? On top of you?" Richie is still catching his breath, but he nods quickly. Eddie smiles against his skin and presses another light kiss there before drawing back. "You want to watch, huh? Want to see my face when you wreck me?"

"Yes," Richie says again, and Eddie shifts backwards a little bit as he grabs the condom. He starts babbling then, like any second without Eddie's mouth from now on is an invitation to talk. It might as well be. "Yes, yeah, want to see you. I don't think I can—I'm already out of my mind, I just want to make you feel good."

"You did. You are," Eddie assures him, tearing the wrapper and glancing up at Richie’s face before taking his dick in hand. Richie rests his hands on Eddie's thighs, breathing out slowly as he rolls the condom on. When he's done, Eddie grabs the lube again and dribbles some over the head of his cock. Richie jumps with it, whining at the cold feeling. "You ready?"

"Yeah, yeah," Richie confirms, watching lube roll down his dick, and Eddie nudges at his hand so Richie holds himself. Eddie scoots up again, back to where he was before, and wraps one hand around Richie's to pump it up and down once. "Fuck."

"Slow," Eddie warns, even though he knows he's in control. Richie nods again, and a breath punches out of him when his head meets Eddie's hole. Eddie keeps sinking down, and his exhale comes out shaky when the tip pops its way inside of him. "Shit, you're big. Fuck, Richie."

"You're doing great," Richie tries weakly, his jaw clenching as Eddie keeps taking him inch by inch. Eddie's mouth falls open as he goes, a low moan making its way from deep in his chest. "Oh, fuck, fuck—"

"I like that—ah—that your vocabulary just keeps shrinking," Eddie teases, making Richie smile and scoff at him.

"What, a guy can't catch a break from all the chatter?" he retorts. All sass immediately drops when Eddie bottoms out though, his ass meeting Richie's hips and staying there.

"No. It's just that you've got a trashmouth," Eddie starts, barely letting himself get used to the feeling before he's circling his hips slowly, "and now that I've got you beneath me, you can't help but shut up."

"Eddie," Richie whines out, his voice taking on a higher pitch again as his eyes screw shut. Eddie makes another small circle over him, and Richie blinks to peer at him through his lashes.

"What is it, Rich?" he asks, and Richie tightens his grip on Eddie's thighs just a little bit. "Use your words, babe."

" _Move,_ " Richie says, and with that tone, he might as well have said "please." It's enough for Eddie: he leans back this time, arching a little as he keeps his weight up on his hands, and lifts his hips. When he sinks back down all the way to the hilt, he and Richie let out long, low moans.

"Fucking—Fuck, I'm so full," Eddie groans out, keeping still. Richie's mouth is open, broken little breaths leaving him as Eddie pushes up again. "Shit, Richie. How long's it been since you've gotten laid?"

"Wh—Ah, shit, shit, shit," Richie hisses when Eddie starts to find a pace. He slides his hands up to hold Eddie's hips, squeezing a little and helping him move. "Long. I don't even know, I can't—You can't expect me to answer any questions with my dick in your ass."

"I'll ask another question then: Do you like it?" Eddie leans forward to place his hands on either side of Richie, using the bed to help himself bounce. It feels so good, how full he is with each movement, how hot he feels. Richie shuts his eyes, moaning quietly. "C'mon, Rich, how do you feel?"

He's never talked to someone like this before, but Eddie can't imagine himself having good sex otherwise. He needs to hear it: that he's doing good, that he's hot, that he's someone worth fucking. He wants to make Richie admit he's the best lay he's ever had. "Tell me, Richie."

"Good," Richie huffs out finally, absolutely breathless, his hips starting to roll up whenever Eddie meets him. It makes Eddie jolt a bit, then sigh out in pleasure at the feeling. For a second he stays down, grinding onto Richie eagerly. His jaw hangs open when he gets an especially good roll of his hips, and Richie tries to press his head further back into the pillow. "Good, good, good. Fuck. You feel so good, Eds."

"Yeah? You wanna have a turn?" Eddie leans down carefully, bracing himself with his elbows. Richie's hips follow, grinding and thrusting up to meet Eddie's ass when he stills and fucking him forward with each thrust. Eddie meant to kiss Richie's neck, but the relentless fucking makes him moan into his ear instead. "C'mon, c'mon, Richie, fuck me."

"Yeah, yeah, just—Fuck," Richie gasps, one hand flying to the back of Eddie's head as he moves his lips across Richie's next. The skin there is soft and a little salty with sweat, and Eddie sticks out his tongue to taste it. He licks all the way up to the little pulse beneath Richie's chin, and he sucks, and Richie moans, and Eddie’s never wanted to bite into someone so bad in his life. He tells Richie as such.

"You taste so fucking good," he breathes, arching and moving backwards to meet Richie's brutal pace. The curve of his dick manages to hit Eddie's sweet spot just then, and his mouth falls open against Richie's jaw. "O-Oh, _fuck,_ you're so good. You're so deep in me."

"Please, please," Richie whines, his grip flying from Eddie's head, his neck, his ass. It's like he wants to hold all of him all at once. Eddie lets out a groan when he gets another good thrust, and Richie is shaking under him. "Come on, get under me, let me fuck you for real, please."

Eddie is in no position to deny _that._ So they move, quickly and clumsily, and Eddie ends up face-down, ass-up. Richie is on his knees behind him, one hand on Eddie's hip. Eddie is ready to keep going, but nothing happens for a second—When he looks back, it's to see Richie, flushed and staring at his hole, one large hand wrapped around himself.

"So much for making it quick," Eddie says, but he shuts up real quick when Richie meets his gaze with a dark, dazed look in his eye.

"Eds," Richie says, his hand trailing over Eddie's side to grip at his ass, and Eddie nods without thinking.

"Yeah, yeah, baby, whatever you want. Do whatever you want," he grants, and it looks like the breath is punched out of Richie. He looks back at Eddie's hole, and Eddie can imagine how it looks: red and ruined, dripping and shining and slippery with lube. "Anything, Richie."

"Okay. Okay," Richie strains, and the way he carefully gives himself a few tight strokes over the condom before using his other hand to spread Eddie's cheeks is almost endearing. Then he leans down, and Eddie hears and _feels_ a glob of spit hit his asshole, and that's a whole other thing entirely.

"Oh, fuck," Eddie can barely get it out before Richie's mouth is on him, his tongue flat against his entrance and licking deliberately to press into him hard. It makes Eddie's toes curl, his ass is a little sore and the whole sensation is completely new, and he moans deep in his chest. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Richie, are you serious—"

Richie just moans into him, his jaw working to eat Eddie out with the same eagerness as eating a pussy. The thought makes Eddie hot all over, the fact that he's wet enough with lube and spit that he can hear the disgusting sounds of Richie eating him out. Richie's tongue presses flat against him again before it works its way inside, and fuck, Eddie is so hard it _hurts._

"H-Ha, oh fuck," Eddie half moans, half whines. Richie works his tongue around for a second before pulling off, and Eddie feels three fingers pressing in instead. They slide in easily, all at once, and Eddie rocks forward with it. Blood rolls from his cheek at the movement, sliding down to his chin and dripping onto the pillow beneath his face. "Oh, _god,_ Rich."

"Is it good?" Richie asks eagerly, breathlessly. _Am I good?_ Eddie imagines him saying, and he notices just now that he's balled some of the sheets in his tight fist. He groans when Richie's fingertips rub harshly over his prostate. "Eddie?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're so good. I've never—Oh my god," Eddie's voice almost cracks when Richie dives in again, and he realizes his ass is sensitive with the scratchy stubble over Richie's chin. He buries his face into a pillow to moan as Richie licks around his fingers, tracing Eddie's stretched rim with his tongue as he fucks him. "God, that's good, that's good, I'm so hard, Richie."

Richie's other hand has been spreading Eddie's ass apart, but then he moves it around his thigh in order to meet his cock. He wraps his hand around it, and Eddie shudders. Richie pulls his mouth back again, whimpering in pleasure even though his own cock is hanging untouched.

"You're wet, how do you get so wet?" he asks, and Eddie is breathless as Richie fingerfucks him and jacks him off at the same time. He leans over Eddie so his chest is at Eddie's back, skin sticking together with sweat. Richie's big enough that, like this, his mouth is right below Eddie's ear.

"Oh, oh fuck, Rich, wait—" He's been worked up for so long and this, the weight on him, the hand working his cock and the fingers rubbing his prostate, has him lightheaded. Eddie reaches down with one hand to Richie's wrist and he slows his movement on his dick. The hand there is still tight, though, and Eddie can feel muscles in his leg spasming at the unrelenting pressure.

"You've never felt like this, huh," Richie breathes, not quite a question. He's panting as if he's the one getting fucked. Richie shuffles a little closer, so his hard cock is pressed against Eddie while his fingers crook up and up and up. "You've never felt this good, have you? Am I the first?"

"God, fuck," Eddie’s stomach jumps when Richie moves his wrist on him a little. He can feel how wet he is, can feel each glob of precum dribbling out his flushed tip. He gasps when Richie's thumb goes to catch a drop, smearing it over his head, "Yeah, yeah, you're the first."

"Please tell me," Richie asks, his lips pressing against the soft skin beneath Eddie's ear. His voice is steady enough, but Eddie can feel his breath. It's broken, coming out in tiny pants as Richie's dick presses into Eddie's plush asscheek. He's desperate for it.

Eddie's still holding Richie's wrist, and he keeps him still when he humps forward into Richie's hand. They both moan at how easy it is, how smoothly Eddie's wet cock glides through Richie's grip. He keeps going, making a steady pace back and forth, and Richie's hips follow to hump against him. They can't move that much—Eddie is practically carrying Richie's weight—but it just makes every tiny thrust a little more rewarding.

"Ah, fuck. Fuck, yeah, Richie, you make me feel so good," he groans out, fingers twitching as he fucks Richie's fist. Richie is breathing heavily over his shoulder, and a tiny moan breaks from him when he shifts so his dick is pressed beside his fingers. "Oh—God, yeah, yeah, I never thought it could feel like this."

"You haven't had good sex?" Richie says, a little whiny towards the end, and Eddie shakes his head. Richie's fingers are starting to feel odd, he needs more lube again, but Eddie doesn't want them to separate.

"No, sweetheart, never. Only now, with you," Eddie huffs, unable to ignore the feeling now. He doesn't stop moving when he asks, "Rich, can you reach the lube?"

"I can," Richie says, but he takes a moment to hump against Eddie a few more times before carefully slipping his fingers out and grabbing for the bottle. It takes him two tries. "Please keep talking to me."

"I've never had good sex," Eddie says again. He's been using his other hand to keep himself upright, but he holds it out palm-up now. Richie doesn't need to be asked to squirt some lube into his palm, and Eddie doesn't bother trying to warm it up before he pulls out of Richie's hand to slick his cock and then pushes back in again.

"Not even with your wife," Richie breathes quietly, a little hesitant. Eddie pauses at that, his dick halfway into Richie's fist. "D-Did—Do you ever fuck her?" Eddie doesn't move at all as he thinks, letting himself and Richie catch their breath.

In all honesty, he'd forgotten about Myra since… what, this morning? When she texted him for an update? And he hadn't even responded, had he; he'd just glanced at the text notification and swiped it away without opening it. He had much better to do, anyway.

Eddie's been considering their marriage since remembering Derry, but he hasn't quite been wondering how she might feel if he asked for a divorce. The only reason he'd ever thought about Myra wasn't of how much he loved her, or how little, or their first date, or even their most recent argument (read: her being a bitch and Eddie hating himself for thinking it). The only reason he'd ever thought about Myra was to worry about her coming home early.

In short, the way he felt about Myra couldn't be farther from the way he feels about Richie.

"No. I never wanted to," he says honestly, and he squeezes Richie's hand a little tighter as he pushes the rest of the way through. "Fuck, Richie, that's—No, we had sex a few times. 'Made love,' she said. Neither of us ever finished, you could barely call it fucking."

"You just jerked off?" Richie asks quietly, peeling his hips away just to pour lube over Eddie's asshole. He feels it dribble down, and he feels Richie's fingers swoop it up and push it into his hole. He finds Eddie's prostate again, easily, and his body rocks with him when Eddie presses back. "Or did you touch yourself more than that?"

"Of course I did. Of course I fucked myself, Richie, I couldn't go without it," Eddie gasps, and Richie moans right into his ear. Eddie starts picking up the pace again, propping himself onto his elbow and hanging his head down to watch himself fuck Richie's hand. He really is flushed at the tip, and pre-cum dribbles down over Richie's fingers like drool.

"Yeah? How?" Richie humps at him a little more insistently, obviously getting worked up. He's so turned on by this, Eddie can tell: he's turned on by the jerky movements of their hips, the wetness of Eddie over his hand, the warmth of Eddie's ass around his fingers. Eddie wants to work him up even further. He wants to make Richie explode.

"I—I used toys. I bought toys," Eddie says, and Richie honest to god shudders. Eddie thinks back on the toys he has in his room back home, all of them: the huge cocks and tight pocket pussies and whatever else he could get his hands on. Whatever he was convinced would make him feel good. "I rode them like I rode you."

"O-Oh," Richie gasps, humping him once especially harshly. "Really? You did that to yourself?" Eddie nods, his mouth watering just thinking about it.

"Yeah, yeah," he breathes, watching Richie's hand stutter over his cock. "I had some, some toys—big ones—that I used a lot. Whenever I could, even if I had something else I needed to do."

"Whenever you wanted. Like you couldn't resist," Richie suggests, grinding against Eddie with ragged breaths. Eddie groans and pushes backwards, into Richie's fingers and back against his cock.

"You're right, I couldn't. I don't think I wanted to." Eddie laughs a little breathlessly when Richie whines, burying his face into Eddie's shoulder as his hips jerk. "Yeah, whenever I wanted. When I was home alone, or in the shower, or in my home office. Whenever I could get away with it."

It's true; Eddie was a chronic masturbator. What else could he do, with no one to spend time with and a wife he didn't love? He turned to toys easily, just silicon holes to fuck at first, but then vibrators and prostate massagers and fake cocks that stuffed him full. It wasn't unnatural for Eddie to head to his home office to "work late" and end up with two thin vibrators up his ass, buzzing against his prostate relentlessly, and his own fist choking his dick so hard it hurt.

"I wish I could see," Richie pants, and Eddie is dizzy with how much he needs to be full. His hips jerk back and he gently tugs Richie's hand off his dick in order to reach back. Richie whines in protest, but he shuts up when Eddie presses their hips apart to fumble for Richie's cock.

"I'll show you," he promises, getting comfortable on his elbow as he blindly strokes Richie up and down and then stopping when Richie weakly thrusts forward. "You've got such a nice cock, Richie. Big and long and heavy." He tightens his grip a little, gives another, slower pump of his hand. "Like you were made to fuck me."

Richie's moan gets strangled as Eddie leads him forward, pulls his thick cock into his hole without any instruction. His hands are careful, but confident, like he's done it a million times before. Like Richie was just another one of his toys.

It sounds like Richie’s made the connection, too, considering the shaking moan that stumbles out of him as he sinks slowly inside. His hands fly to Eddie’s waist, gripping onto the flesh there hard enough to leave bruises. Eddie wants to see them later, to press into the spots that are purple and ugly and remember how Richie made him feel so full.

“I bet you like this,” Eddie breathes, guiding Richie in until his hand gets in the way and he has to drop it to move his hips back instead. Richie’s fingers were nice, but they couldn’t even compare to this; the heat of Richie’s cock, the weight of it. How it made him stretch and ache just enough to make him dizzy. “I bet you like me fucking myself on you, using you.”

“Ah, ah—I do, I do, I love it,” Richie gasps. Eddie feels him push forward for the last in, burying himself to the hilt and grinding forward as if he could go even deeper. Eddie groans, rolling his hips back, and Richie chokes out, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Eddie says back, leaning more of his weight on his elbows. He arches a little more with it, and one of Richie’s big hands comes up to splay over his lower back, pushing down to bend his spine even more. “Come on, Richie,” Eddie urges, the air leaving his lungs at the careful, deliberate pressure. “Fuck me.”

Richie does: the first thrust is slow, but harsh right near the end, making Eddie gasp with the force of it. Richie takes that sound as the encouragement that it is, and builds, builds, builds into a rough, steady pace until he’s pounding into Eddie so hard he thinks he’ll feel it for months.

Eddie can’t even hold his weight up on his elbows. His face falls into the pillow, muffling his moans until he can’t find his breath and has to turn his head. He turns it the wrong way, and his injured cheek rubs roughly against the cheap fabric with each movement. He must make a hurt sound, because Richie leans over him in concern.

“You okay?” he asks, strained, still fucking into him, still creating a horrible back-and-forth on Eddie’s wound. It’ll scar much worse than it was going to before. Eddie can feel the horrible irritation, the blood leaking into the pillow, the soaked fabric becoming warm and stained.

“Harder,” Eddie pleads, gripping onto the sheets. “Richie, Richie, fuck me harder.” Richie is all too eager to comply. He moves his hands again in order to pull Eddie back to meet him with each thrust, fingers digging further into Eddie’s waist and hips and making him take it deep.

“Is it good for you?” he asks, panting with the effort. Eddie moans, fights to take a deep breath, but all the air is getting fucked out of him. Richie doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps going, keeps pumping into him like they’re going to die tomorrow. “I know it is. I know I fuck you good because you told me so, because—fuck, _fuck_ —because you already knew I’d like hearing you say it. You make me feel good, too, Eds, I want to fuck you all the time. I’ve always wanted to fuck you just like this.”

“R-Richie,” Eddie gasps, choking on his own blood and spit. The pain in his cheek is searing, it’s the worst pain he’s felt in his life. One of Richie’s hands moves down, reaches around him to press on Eddie’s stomach, and the way he leans down to do it makes him hit his sweet spot perfectly. “O-Oh, _fuck,_ oh my _god,_ Rich.”

“Do you feel me, Eddie?” he breathes, his other hand sliding up Eddie’s spine to hold down the back of his neck. Eddie almost sobs at the way it presses his cheek down a little harder, and he realizes he’s starting to cry. Richie must notice, his face is so close to Eddie’s own, but he just asks, “Do you feel my fat cock in you? Does it feel better than the—the toys you play with when your stupid _fucking_ wife’s not around?”

“I-I feel it,” Eddie tries to reply, past the blood and the pain and the drool. “You feel so good, so fucking _deep,_ and—and—” He wails when the hand on his stomach swiftly grabs his cock instead, still leaking and so, so sensitive. Richie doesn’t hesitate to pump it harshly, even though Eddie’s leg violently twitches with the need to kick at the pressure, and there isn’t much lube left in Richie’s hand. “Fuck, _fuck, fuck,_ I’m close, _Richie,_ I’m gonna cum—”

“I was so surprised when you said you were hot for me killing Bowers,” Richie interrupts, and there’s something different in his voice. Something darker. Eddie can feel sweat dripping from Richie and onto his back, his neck. It almost makes him want to turn around, to see how Richie looks, but this position is too good and he’s too close, too—“But the truth is, I would do it all over again. To save one of you, or just to get back at him for all he fucking did to us.”

He’s pumping Eddie _hard,_ Eddie’s precum slicking the way, and the wet sounds of Richie jacking him off paired with the sounds of skin-against-skin just make Eddie’s hips move on their own. He fucks forward, back, matching Richie’s pace without conscious thought. He’s so close, he’s almost there, he just needs—he just needs—

“The truth is, I wanted to kill him. So I did,” Richie breathes, and Eddie thinks of his strong hands, an old axe, a disgusting, haunting sound of a skull being broken and a heavy body hitting the ground. Richie squeezes his cock, fucks hard into his ass, groans lowly into his ear. Says, “I fucking killed him, and I fucking _loved_ it.”

Eddie’s orgasm hits him like a fucking truck. He thinks he shouts, but he isn’t sure: all he knows is the throbbing of his cock, his cum shooting out onto the townhouse sheets and over Richie’s hand, the paralyzing heat spreading from his core to his limbs and making his vision go white. Richie is fucking him the whole way through, and his pace doesn’t lift. By the time Eddie’s finished, he’s a shaking, moaning mess, and Richie’s breathing is labored with how hard he fucks him.

“C’mon, Richie,” Eddie says, sore and tired and hot all over. He reaches back with one hand to grab Richie’s arm, and Richie lets go of his spent cock to press over his stomach again. Eddie gasps on each thrust, his body moving even easier than before, like a ragdoll. “Cum, sweetheart, cum for me.”

Richie leans all the way over when he comes, burying his face in the back of Eddie’s head and pressing his chest to Eddie’s back as he groans. Eddie feels it immediately, the hot cum shooting from Richie’s dick and filling him up, making him hot from the inside. Richie’s hips thrust a few more times, then slow into a hard, heavy grind. He shakes for a few seconds, then exhales harshly and deflates.

“Ugh, fuck,” Richie groans, his hands quickly moving to hold himself up over Eddie before he collapses. Richie pushes himself up, placing one hand on Eddie’s hip, and slowly pulls out. Eddie moans against the pillow at the final glide, feeling his hole ache as cum leaks out of him. He feels Richie swipe his thumb across his entrance, then he moves to lay on his side where Eddie is facing. “Eds.”

Eddie gets the memo. He sticks out his tongue, and Richie cups his jaw to guide his thumb onto it carefully. He watches raptly as Eddie moans against it, wrapping his lips around the digit and sucking the cum off. Richie presses his thumb against his tongue one last time before taking it out of his mouth, and Eddie rolls over onto his back. They lay there for a second, Eddie half on top of Richie, catching their breaths.

“Fuck,” he says finally, his throat a little fucked, and Richie laughs tiredly beside him. Eddie turns his head away to spit, a huge blob of blood and drool and cum landing on the pillow beside his head. “God, what the fuck.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘what the fuck’? You started it,” Richie says as Eddie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. It comes back wet and red, and Eddie winces as he wipes it off on the comforter.

“I didn’t think we would, like _fuck._ I wanted sex, not to have all of my bones fucked out of my body,” he retorts, though he thinks he sounds too achingly satisfied to properly banter.

“I would give you shit for complaining about being fucked too good, but I think I’m in the same boat,” Richie admits. Eddie turns to look at him, but he finds Richie was already staring.

He looks good. Maybe not presentable in any way, but good. There’s blood all across his lips and jaw, and there’s sweat over his hairline and neck. His chest is sweaty, too, matting all the hair there, and the hair on his head somehow looks just as bad. There’s a whole curl stuck flat to his forehead. Eddie can only imagine how fucked up he looks himself.

“I literally can’t move,” Richie says, and Eddie gives him a skeptic look.

“What, really?” he asks, and Richie nods. “Oh, shit. Okay—come on, big boy, I’ll help you up.”

It takes a lot of cursing, a lot of unsexy grunts and grumbles, but the two end up in the shower with shaky legs and sore arms. They don’t take too long in there since they have to dress in their gross, dirty clothes anyway: they still have shit to do and one ruined outfit is enough, thank you.

Eddie’s cheek won’t stop bleeding, and it takes them a while to get a fresh, new bandage on, but in the span of twenty minutes they don’t look like Richie’s been fucking Eddie closer to death than he already was. They still look like shit, and their clothes definitely smell like shit, but they’re ready to go out and meet their friends again.

“Hey, so, about all the things you said,” Richie says, and Eddie looks up at him from where he’s tying his shoes. He looks a little nervous, and a lot resigned. Like he thinks he knows what Eddie will say and he’s already accepted it. “Not about the, uh, murdering stuff, but the—You know, the—”

“I love you,” Eddie says, and Richie nods and scratches his neck awkwardly. There’s still some blood under his nails, which was sort of hot before but _really_ gross now. Eddie will give him shit for it later, when they have time. _When they're safe,_ he thinks.

“Yeah, that,” Richie says, and Eddie shakes his head and quickly finishes tying his laces before standing up.

“No, Richie. I love you,” he says again, firmer this time, and Richie looks at him like he’s scared. “I do. I love you. I—I know that was, like, the shittiest time to say it, I guess it did look like I was just fucking horny, but it’s true. I meant it. I love you.”

Richie looks at him carefully, searching his face, his eyes. He opens his mouth to reply, but then there’s a hurried knock at the door and the tender moment turns into a panicked one.

“Guys?! Guys, are you in there?” Ben asks frantically from the other side. They glance at each other briefly, then Richie quickly swings open the door to reveal their friend. “Oh fuck, thank god. You were gone for so long, what were you even doing?”

“Uh,” Richie replies, but Ben is already turning around and waving for them to follow. By the time Eddie is at the door, he’s already behind the banister again.

“Bill is at Neibolt. We tried to talk him out of it, but the most we could do was get him to wait for you. Come on, we need to go, hurry up!” he says, and disappears down one flight of stairs. Eddie and Richie follow, slamming the door behind them and chasing their friend out into the street.

Richie can’t say it back, not with Ben leading them in a sprint as he tries to explain whatever’s gotten into Bill’s head this time, but he keeps glancing at Eddie and Eddie keeps meeting his eyes. It’s obvious Richie wants to say something, but he doesn’t have to.

Eddie reaches out to squeeze Richie’s hand, and Richie manages to quirk one corner of his lips as they take the turn onto Neibolt street. They both face forward. Richie will have plenty of time to say it later; for now, Eddie knows well enough.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be published on halloween, but it can be a christmas gift too!
> 
> thank you for reading!


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